Three bent rusty old muskets hang near the fragrant nostrum, testifying to a no less remarkable miracle: some sportsmen, who had rashly overloaded their guns, realized in the act of firing the danger they were in and, while their weapons were going off, called upon St Benedict (in abbreviated form, no doubt) and were duly preserved not merely from death but from the slightest scratch.

—Hector Berlioz, Memoirs